


Long Ride Home

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, character death (canon), song!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-11
Updated: 2007-07-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 13:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's a long ride when you're trying to leave what you thought was home.





	Long Ride Home

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [](https://elanurel.livejournal.com/profile)[elanurel](https://elanurel.livejournal.com/) for roping in my wandering phrases and to [](https://iamentheos.livejournal.com/profile)[iamentheos](https://iamentheos.livejournal.com/) for allowing me to bombard her with half finished fic. Posted with and without song lyrics - read whichever you prefer.  Song lyrics are from "Long Ride Home" by Patty Griffin. Beautiful song.

Title: Long Ride Home  
Pairing: Sam/Jess  
Rating: PG  
Warning: Angst, character death (canon), song!fic  
Notes: thanks to [](https://elanurel.livejournal.com/profile)[**elanurel**](https://elanurel.livejournal.com/)  for roping in my wandering phrases and to [](https://iamentheos.livejournal.com/profile)[ **iamentheos**](https://iamentheos.livejournal.com/) for allowing me to bombard her with half finished fic. Posted with and without song lyrics - read whichever you prefer.  Song lyrics are from "Long Ride Home" by Patty Griffin. Beautiful song.

Summary: It's a long ride when you're trying to leave what you thought was home.

 

_Long black limousine  
Shiniest car I've ever seen_

Sam rides to the cemetery with Dean, crisp black suit wrinkling at the crease of his thigh and the bend of his knee. The flowers in his lap are wilting in the California sunshine – November be damned, it’s eighty degrees and sunny like always. All he can think is that it should be raining.

 

_The back seat is nice and clean  
She rides as quiet as a dream_

It isn’t real yet, never mind the blackened apartment building they drove by on the way to the funeral home or the scent of smoke that he can’t wash out of his hair. Dean’s car smells the same – leather and sweat and blood. It’s not the right home, but it’s still familiar. He misses the smell of vanilla that followed her wherever they went.

 

_Someone dug a hole six long feet in the ground  
I said goodbye to you and I threw my roses down_

She always hated when he gave her flowers, said it was like giving someone a pet with a terminal disease. Sam had flushed as red as the roses in his hand, his only knowledge of girls learned from Dean. The next time he saw her, he gave her a tiny little cactus. That didn’t survive the fire either.

 

_Ain't nothing left at all in the end of being proud  
With me riding in this car, and you flying through the clouds_

Dean doesn’t follow him in the cemetery, big-brotherly nod pushing him to open the door that’s suddenly heavier than it’s ever felt. His feet aren’t working, synapses firing but the transmission gets blocked before it can leave his brain. He hates the flowers in his hand; they make him cry.

 

_I've had some time to think about you  
And watch the sun sink like a stone_

The stone in the ground above her is polished; shine masking the image of her body underneath. The grass is growing over her, earth settling into a soft curve of land above hard wood with brass handles. He’s dug up too many graves just like this.

 

_I've had some time to think about you  
On the long ride home_

Dean’s stereo is quiet, silence spreading across the grass dotted with granite and marble. It’s not right, the silence from that black shimmer in the distance. He doesn’t want to listen to his own breathing, to her voice in his mind.

 

_One day I took your tiny hand_  
Put your finger in the wedding band  
Your daddy gave a piece of land  
We laid ourselves the best of plans

There’s a band of gold in his pocket, tiny chip of diamond spark just enough to catch the sun. He had to steal a ring from her jewelry box to get the sizing right, heart aching because he couldn’t afford anything more than this whisper of shine. She wouldn’t have cared though.

 

  
_Forty years go by with someone laying in your bed_  
Forty years of things you say you wish you'd never said  
How hard would it have been to say some kinder words instead  
I wonder as I stare up at the sky turning red 

His dad still wears his wedding ring. Twenty-two years since this all started, twenty-seven since he put it on his finger. Sam has never wanted to be anything like his father, except when he sees that ring.

 

_I've had some time to think about you_  
And watch the sun sink like a stone  
I've had some time to think about you  
On the long ride home

It’s a little strange, seeing the picture of his mother next to the picture of Jess in his wallet. They could have been related, all the curling blonde hair and fair skin. They almost were.

 

_Headlights staring at the driveway_  
The house is dark as it can be  
I go inside and all is silent  
It seems as empty as the inside of me

They drive by the apartment again on the way out of town. He sees the second of hesitation, Dean almost turning down the side street to the right. Sam looks out to the left, ocean in the distance. Dean keeps on driving. They’ve got work to do.

 

_I've had some time to think about you_  
And watch the sun sink like a stone  
I've had some time to think about you  
On the long ride home

Palo Alto fades in the background, caught in the rearview mirror forever.

Sam hates California. 

  
___________________________________________________________________  
  
  


Sam rides to the cemetery with Dean, crisp black suit wrinkling at the crease of his thigh and the bend of his knee. The flowers in his lap are wilting in the California sunshine – November be damned, it’s eighty degrees and sunny like always. All he can think is that it should be raining.

It isn’t real yet, never mind the blackened apartment building they drove by on the way to the funeral home or the scent of smoke that he can’t wash out of his hair. Dean’s car smells the same – leather and sweat and blood. It’s not the right home, but it’s still familiar. He misses the smell of vanilla that followed her wherever they went.

She always hated when he gave her flowers, said it was like giving someone a pet with a terminal disease. Sam had flushed as red as the roses in his hand, his only knowledge of girls learned from Dean. The next time he saw her, he gave her a tiny little cactus. That didn’t survive the fire either.

Dean doesn’t follow him in the cemetery, big-brotherly nod pushing him to open the door that’s suddenly heavier than it’s ever felt. His feet aren’t working, synapses firing but the transmission gets blocked before it can leave his brain. He hates the flowers in his hand; they make him cry.

The stone in the ground above her is polished; shine masking the image of her body underneath. The grass is growing over her, earth settling into a soft curve of land above hard wood with brass handles. He’s dug up too many graves just like this.

Dean’s stereo is quiet, silence spreading across the grass dotted with granite and marble. It’s not right, the silence from that black shimmer in the distance. He doesn’t want to listen to his own breathing, to her voice in his mind.

There’s a band of gold in his pocket, tiny chip of diamond spark just enough to catch the sun. He had to steal a ring from her jewelry box to get the sizing right, heart aching because he couldn’t afford anything more than this whisper of shine. She wouldn’t have cared though.

His dad still wears his wedding ring. Twenty-two years since this all started, twenty-seven since he put it on his finger. Sam has never wanted to be anything like his father, except when he sees that ring.

It’s a little strange, seeing the picture of his mother next to the picture of Jess in his wallet. They could have been related, all the curling blonde hair and fair skin. They almost were.

They drive by the apartment again on the way out of town. He sees the second of hesitation, Dean almost turning down the side street to the right. Sam looks out to the left, ocean in the distance. Dean keeps on driving. They’ve got work to do.

Palo Alto fades in the background, caught in the rearview mirror forever.

Sam hates California.  



End file.
